Wheel of Time
by Russingon5eva
Summary: And in madness/I soon shall prevail/Twice I'll be marked and/Twice I shall live/The heron sets my path/And name me true/Twice I'll be marked and/Twice I shall die/My memory's gone - A bit of a sequel to the Harper and the Flutist.


**Beginning Author's Notes:**

**A: This is slightly A/U, though the basic outline ****is**** a continuation of ****_The Harper and the Flutist_****. It's just as if Maglor and Daeron met around the time America was formed, instead of later on in the early 1900's.**

**B: **_example_ **is the song lyrics (or in one case: a flashback Maglor has of something he said to Fingon during the time Maedhros was in Angband, and then what Fingon said at some point during that time to Maglor [or maybe after he was the one to rescue to Maedhros and not Maglor, I don't know] though Maglor is actually saying it at that time.**

**C: Yes, this does cross over slightly into ****_Captain America: The First Avenger_****. Sorry. It'll be ignorable enough, really.**

**D: The song is Wheel of Time by Blind Guardian.**

**E: Oh brother, where's that "**but it is not this day**" gif when you need it? ****_One day I will spell Wheel right on the first try…but it is not this day!_**

**F: Shutting up now. This was supposed to be a ****_short_**** author's note.**

_'__Now there is no end_

_The wheel will turn, my friend'_

Alone.

Empty.

Wandering purposeless across the world.

All meaning of life seems to have been taken from him. There is no one left; no one left to share the burden. Surely, he wanders why he alone still remains. But even should he call out his question, there is none who would answer. He is alone and day by day, that fact becomes harder and harder to bear. He thinks it will always be this way.

Then he finds him and neither of them are alone anymore. Once mortal enemies, mutual need has brought them together and they can not wish for anything more. It has only been a decade or two, but already neither can hardly remember what it was like to be alone and both fear losing this newfound companionship.

And he is comforted by that, because though neither of them express it, their bond continues to grow deeper by the day and he begins to think that if they remain alone together until Arda is born anew, they will be one soul then.

_'__I'm in flames 'cause I have touched the light_

_It pulls me so_

_We shall be one_

_Forevermore'_

He shouldn't be staying here. There is a reason he's avoided others for all these years despite his aching loneliness. He's cursed. He can't forget this. Just because the world has forgotten and just because they are all gone now save him doesn't mean anything.

He's cursed.

So incredibly damned.

Every moment that turns into more spent with the flutist brings the Sindar further into his damnation. He holds back for a decade more, not wanting to lose this and go back to his lonely wanderings, but guilt finally sets in and he tries to tell the flute player that he cannot be allowed to stay.

His companion doesn't take that well and sits him down and lectures him on how he can't leave and if he can, they're both alone again, not just the harper.

That shuts him up instantaneously and he doesn't press the matter. The flutist can't help making a scathing comment right as he finally lets the harper get up that he's already damned and if he should suffer from the damnation of the Noldor, so be it. He doesn't care, just as long as he is no longer alone. Their understanding of each grows enormously that day and the harper never tries to leave again.

_'__That's all I want_

_It's all I need_

_Everything is fixed_

_There's no chance_

_There's no choice.'_

It doesn't take too long for war to stir up. Neither are surprised. Both have been living near and among human since the early dawn of their reign and they figure they know the pattern well enough by now. It is 1775 and both think this newly fledged country - already thinking itself ready for the world - will lose its revolution and they move back west where America has not dug in and where the fighting is only a distant rumor they suddenly find difficult to believe.

Another decade passes and they return east out of mere curiosity to find the strangest thing. America has won her war. Yet her struggles are not yet over and they return west after a mere five years. Half of a century passes, and the years continue to fly by.

The Earth trembles with rumors of slavery and civil war 77 years after they returned to the west coast and while the flutist is eager to aid in the destruction of slavery in this new country (except, she's not really new anymore, is she?), the harper is cautious. He can't forget the devastation of war and he wants nothing to do with this civil war.

The flutist wants to aid the North in their cause and the harper grudgingly agrees.

He doesn't want to be alone after all.

_'__It's calling me_

_Saidin_

_So precious and sweet_

_My mind keeps fading away_

_It's scratching deeper_

_My sole reliever_

_How can I find you now?'_

It's so painfully easy - signing up. No one looks at them twice as they sign themselves up as Cänä and Daniel Eriksen. They look nothing alike, yet no one thinks to question that they are brothers, and if they do, they keep it to themselves. Claiming to be from Maine, they are assigned to Colonel Chamberlain. They make themselves useful, but not too useful. They don't want to be singled out.

Their superiors take notice all the same and "Cänä Eriksen" is suddenly an officer. Daniel is swift to follow and they continue on through an increasingly bloody war, simply trying to survive.

They watch men around them fall at a frightingly enormous rate and for the first time in so long, the harper feels fear. He realizes that each and every battle they fight in - and even off the battlefield - is a chance to lose his only companion, the other - as far as he knows - elf left. The only other who fully understands him and he shuts himself off from the flutist for a while.

Then one, well-aimed bullet threatens to steal the flutist from Cänä.

_'__Passing through the flames_

_I see_

_How terror will rise_

_It soon will be over_

_O' father of lies_

_Like foul winds at twilight_

_It's coming over me_

_What was and what will be?  
What is?  
I don't know'_

They're just talking in hushed tones - not wanting to be overheard - when the sniper strikes.

The flutist has leaned against the harper to demonstrate something to him when he abruptly jerks, goes limp, and falls into the harper's panicking arms.

That's when he realizes and he almost races to the hospital before remembering the pitiful condition it is in and treats the flutist himself.

He rides into battle the next day and personally slaughters the man who'd shot the elf he thought he considered his brother.

The men are nervous around him after that skirmish. They'd never seen the 'peaceful' Cänä Eriksen so violent and the harper can't help but scoff at their ignorance. They know nothing.

Today was nothing. Yet he fears that that other side of him may resurface and take control. He sits and worries until the flutist is fully recovered and then that fear leaves him.

For the time being.

After that sniper, it is rare to see "Cänä" and "Daniel" apart.

_'__Driving me insane_

_Just feel the heat_

_Madness creeps in_

_I'll tear it down_

_There's no end_

_Wheel of time'_

It is late June - nearly July - of 1893 and both can feel something changing - the tide turning perhaps, though they don't know which way and they are afraid.

Both seem to finally realize what they have gotten themselves into and that there is no longer any option of turning back.

They just can't anymore.

That's when the Battle of Gettysburg begins.

Everything is happening far too quickly and they are separated. The 2nd day of battle and the colonel's suicidal order to charge as ammunition runs low passes and the harper can't find his bond brother.

The flutist is nowhere to be found and not one inch of the harper's body doubts that he is gone. Yet he searches the battlefield anyways, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe…maybe Eru would've spared him the pain just this one time.

Just as he has convinced himself of this possibility, he locates the still form of the flutist. It's more then he can bear and he falls to the ground, crawling across the blood-soaked earth to the flutist; praying 'no' under his breath.

When he finally reaches him, he cradles him to his chest, crying and rocking the body back and forth.

There is a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, offering comfort, but the harper doesn't try to see who it is; his entire attention is on the flutist, who has just stirred.

"Cän-nä?" The flutist croaks and Cänä is crying even harder as the flute player struggles to focus. "You're alive," he whispers, "You're here."

_'__It keeps on spinning_

_There's no beginning_

_Turn the wheel of time_

_There's no beginning_

_Just keep on spinning_

_Light - it binds me_

_Light - it blinds me_

_Light - it finds me_

_Light denies me now!'_

As soon as they can get away, they do so; each bearing his own scarring from the war. The flutist has two efficient bullet wounds while the harper has come out physically unscathed.

But it doesn't take long for the flutist to see how much his harper's mind has been damaged by the whole dreadful experience and he regrets ever asking to go.

The guilt gnaws away at him for a few months until the harper has recovered enough to notice and it's his turn to lecture the other.

Both vow not to get involved in the affairs of men for at least the next few hundred years.

To keep this promise, they move further and further west until they must move north and that is where they first run into others.

_'__I creep along_

_So desperate and tired_

_Let me ask you_

_Why?_

_I am what I am_

_Prophecies, I am the chosen_

_Ta'veren_

_The flame will grow_

_Feel the heat_

_I'll keep on breathing_

_After all there's no tomorrow'_

They've entered what will one day be Canada when the first rumors begin reaching them of others. Other wanderers - other never dying beings and while both are curious, only the flutist wishes to confirm or disconfirm the whisperings.

The harper doesn't say anything, but his disagreement fills the air. The flutist remembers what happened last time and he holds back. The harper is damaged enough and his mental state grows increasingly fragile.

Finally, the harper's curiosity as to who else has remained wins over his caution. The disagreement that has lingered in the air between them for weeks on end slowly ebbs away and it is instantly obvious.

Carefully, they begin to seek out the source of the whisperings up north.

What they find is not who they expect.

_'__Wheel of time_

_Save my soul, find a way_

_And if I fail_

_Will it all be over?_

_Oh wheel of time'_

There's a storm brewing on the ice. The two elves do not notice the cold air whistling around them, but they cannot ignore the chunks and fragments of ice and snow that are being kicked up and whipped around by the blinding wind. The harper wants to persevere, but the flutist is not handling the storm well, having never been in such conditions and the harp player relents. He still doesn't want to be alone.

They seek shelter as the storm worsens and come across a small, dank cave. The harper freezes as he steps over the threshold of the cave, ages-old senses awakening from their slumber with an abrupt snap.

Someone or something else has already found shelter here. His hand encircles his sword hilt. There is an almost silent 'shiing' of metal on leather and the flutist moves to hold his companion's arm back.

"Mára aurë?*" he calls out to the darkness of the cave and there is a startled intake of breath, then the sword is re-sheathed.

"Man eneth lín?**" is whispered in response and the flutist lets go of the harp player's arm.

"Daeron eneth nín***" is the flutist's reply and though the pause that follows seems to be for the harper to give his, he says nothing.

The silence prevails until he relents and murmurs "Estannen Mäkaläurë****." Only then do the other occupants of cave reveal themselves. "Im Elladan." "Ai Estannen Elrohir."

The harper starts. "Elrondion?"

_'__The vision_

_So fleeting and vague_

_Once again I will bring down the mountain_

_One last glance_

_It is constantly slipping away'_

That's when they first learn that they are not entirely alone. Elladan and Elrohir know of three other elves who have remained: Celeborn, Thranduil, and Glorfindel. (1) Both the harper and the flutist recognize those names. The flutist knew Thranduil and Celeborn (2) of old and he wishes see them once more.

Unsurprisingly, the harper does not. Although the flutist has forgiven him for the kinslaying at Doriath, he was not actually there and though Celeborn was not either, he lost a brother and Thranduil's father nearly died there (3), the harper doubts any other would be as forgiving.

And Glorfindel…he is kin (4), but he is kin that was abandoned to the ice. The harper does not think to look for welcome from him. His hands are still stained; not even the terrible burning he received could wipe it all away. To him, his soul is as black as night; stained red by sin.

_'__The young man said_

_"__I will never give up"_

_The inner war_

_I can hold against it_

_My mind, my mind_

_My mind's in darkness'_

The harper finally consents, following the flutist wherever he may lead. Every time_he_ leads, he says it all becomes a disaster. (5) No one says anything - not even the twins - but they all know he is talking about and know better then to respond to that.

The four elves wait out the storm and once it is over, the flutist and the harper follow the twin brothers southeast again.

The sons of Elrond and their grandfather don't keep contact as often as they could, but as family they do more than the other elves. When they locate the silver-haired Sindar, the harper has "mysteriously" disappeared, though none of them are surprised to see him go. The twins think he is gone, but the flutist knows he is just hiding until Celeborn is out of the picture. Despite being cousins-in-law(6) with the harper, Celeborn has absolutely no tolerance for the surviving son of Fëanor and the three make an unspoken pact to not say anything about the harper.

When the flutist finally takes his leave of Celeborn and the sons of Elrond, claiming he is used to being alone, yes he will remain in contact, but he is used to living alone, the harper has vanished and it takes the flutist a month to finally find him again. It doesn't go too well.

_'__The young man says_

_"__I will never give in"  
The prophecy_

_Behold it's true_

_I conquer the flames_

_To release the insane_

_I'm crying_

_I cannot erase_

_I'm the dragon reborn_

_And in madness_

_I soon shall prevail'_

The flutist is about to give up when he finds the fëanorian.

When he calls out the harper's name, his response is simple; heartbroken; screaming. "I am not Maglor! Or Mäkaläurë or Cänäfinwë! I am Fëanorian, oathbreaker and kinslayer; dispossessed and damned!" Then he collapses, sobbing and screaming.

The flutist realizes with a sinking feeling that the harper has finally lost it. His fragile mental state has finally snapped.

The harper tries to crawl away as the flutist approaches, but he can't support his weight on his quivering arms and he collapses into his long-companion's waiting embrace.

The bard from Doriath's heart has never been more broken as he listens to the fëanorian's gut-wrenching sobs. He shepherds the harper back to their home in the northwest and tries to repair his mind to no avail. Mäkaläurë's mind is gone, at least for now. The man the flutist had fallen in love with has vanished, buried under layers of guilt, betrayal, death and oaths. Anyone else would've left. But then again, anyone else would never have stayed so long in the first place. The flutist doesn't leave; as heartbreaking as the harper's child-like mental state is, he stays. He continues to try and repair the elf whom he loved's mind, realizing in a morbid moment of clarity that each time he wants to do something and the harper doesn't, it's always the fëanorian who ends up paying for it.

_'__Twice I'll be marked and_

_Twice I shall live_

_The heron sets my path_

_And name me true_

_Twice I'll be marked and_

_Twice I shall die_

_My memory's gone_

_I'll pay the price'_

1870. October 17. The flutist can't forget that date. It's the date his harper finally lost the only thing he had left. Himself. Essentially, his mind. It's been nearly 72 years since the harper's mind was finally destroyed. Once again, war has started up, but this time it's a "world war." Again.

Technically, it's been going for a few years. The flutist doesn't know why, but something is telling him to leave England, and to take the harper with him.

They creep around the war-torn continent. The urging notion drives the flutist of Doriath deeper into war-zones until they come across a ruined settlement occupied by the Allies.

The flutist thinks to leave, but he is no longer being pulled anywhere and on top of that, the harper seems to have disappeared when his flute player turned his back.

He panics at first, but soon finds him.

In a ruined bar.

With a uniformed man that the flutist recognizes as "Captain America."

_'__Wheel of time_

_Save my soul_

_Find a way_

_May it be as the pattern has chosen_

_Oh, wheel of time'_

Darkness.

Screaming and Sobbing.

That's all my world is anymore.

Hurt.

I don't know why he's dragging me around with him. Why won't he just let me die? I let Caranthir die when he wanted, even though I didn't want him to. (7) Can't I be allowed the same mercy?

As soon as he is distracted, I find the will to stumble off, hoping to be shot down as I approach the fortress-turned-settlement, but I am not.

I am allowed to stumble through the town until I notice the figure of a man sitting dejectedly at the only up-turned table amid the ruins of the bar. The voices in my head tell me not to go anywhere near him, but I do anyway, ignoring them for the first time in so very long.

He looks up as I enter and - seeing my face and not recognizing it - his hand goes down to his side where I can see a gun strapped.

I tilt my head, looking at him funny. "Mára aurë.*" I say cheerfully (almost); childishly; and plop down next to him, staring at his face.

"Who are you?" He asks and I have to struggle to understand him for a moment.

Finally, I point to myself questionably, and when he nods, my answer is "Fëanorian." He looks at me. "I am Fëanorian." I repeat. "Oath-breaker and kinslayer; dispossessed and damned."

"Only after he looks at me hesitantly do I realize I had spoken in Quenya. Quenya…the name is strange, yet familiar. Quenya…my mind says I should recognize it, but I do not. My mind is suddenly against me in an incredibly different way and it hurls strange words at me like I should know them. _"Maitimo, Tyelkormo, Carnstir, Atarinkë, Ambarussa, Ambarto, Findekáno, Turukáno, Irissë, Findaráto, Artaresto, Angaráto, Aikanáro, Arantis, Aranáro, Fëanáro, Nolofinwë, Arafinwë, Finwë, Telperinquar, Arakáno."_

For some reason, something tugs at my heartstrings and I whisper "Mäkaläurë". The word feels right somehow and inexplicitly, I know it's not just a word, but a name. My name. "I am Mäkaläurë." I whisper, English this time and the man nods.

He looks sad, and I can't help reaching out to touch the side of his face. "It'll be okay." I hear someone whisper - me - without thinking. I watch a tear drip out of his eye. "It's my fault." He whispers and I furrow my eyebrows. That sounds so achingly familiar…

_"__It's my fault, Findekáno. Maitimo…he's…I can't order an attempt to-"_

"Káno…" I whisper and the man looks back up at men. Clarity for the first time in so long strikes me. _"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. But if you brood on what could've been and will never be, it __**will**__ become your fault and the sacrifice will be all for naught." _Not knowing why, I recite Findekáno's suddenly familiar lecture.

The man looks at me for a few minutes, and then smiles faintly through his tears.

_'__Turn the wheel of time_

_It keeps on spinning_

_There's no beginning_

_There's no end, wheel of time_

_There's no beginning_

_Just keep on spinning.'_

The stranger's words hit Steve deeply. There's something in the man's eyes that says he understands and has felt what Steve is going through and Steve feels the guilt lessen somewhat at his words. He opens his month to ask the stranger who he is and what happened to him to grant him the understanding in his eyes, but then Peggy is calling his name. He looks away for one moment and when he looks back, the stranger is gone.

Maybe that's for the better.

_'__Shine on_

_Embrace and deny me_

_Turn on, wheel of time_

_Shine on_

_You've burnt me, now guide me_

_Weave on, wheel of time'_

**Quenya Names Listed Off For Those Of You Who Don't Know:**

**Maitimo = Maedhros, also called Nelyafinwë and Russandol**

**Tyelkormo = Celegorm, also called Turkafinwë**

**Carnstir = Caranthir, also called Morifinwë**

**Atarinkë = Curufin, also called Curufinwë**

**Ambarussa and Ambarto = Amrod and Amras. Technically, in some version, both are referred to as "Ambarussa", but I just put both here because they both exist.**

**Findekáno = Fingon**

**Turukáno = Turgon**

**Irissé = Aredhel**

**Findaráto = Finrod, also called Felagund (lord of caves) and Nóm (wisdom). I think there might be more, but I don't remember them.**

**Artaresto = Orodreth**

**Angaráto = Angrod**

**Aikanáro = Aegnor**

**Arantis = Galadriel**

**Aranáro = This is Gil-Galad. Though he is more commonly referred to as "Ereinion" when not called Gil-Galad, I wasn't sure if that was Quenya and was too lazy to check.**

**Fëanáro = Fëanor, also called Curufinwë**

**Nolofinwë = Fingolfin**

**Arafinwë = Finarfin**

**Finwë = Finwë**

**Telperinquar = Celebrimbor**

**Arakáno = Argon, third son of Fingolfin that no one knows about.**

**Side note: Maglor is also called Mäkaläurë and Cänäfinwë. Mother name and father name, in that order. The trick for the fëanorians is this: father names have "finwë" in them somewhere…except Amrod and Amras…does anyone know their father names?**

**In-Text Author's Notes:**

**1: And thus my headcanons appear again. My belief is that seven of the elves (and only seven - there aren't any others…yet) remained behind. Maglor Fëanorian, the Mighty Singer; Daeron of Doriath; Elladan and Elrohir, twins sons of Elrond Half-elven, son of Eärendil; Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and Balrog-slayer; Celeborn of Doriath and Lothlórien; and Thranduil, former King of the Woodland Realm (and yes, I did have to make it that long. Why? Cause it's annoying)**

**2: In my headcanons, regardless of the fact that Thranduil ****_might _****not have been born when Daeron was still in Doriath. And Celeborn and Daeron are cousins in my -verse. And Celeborn has a brother. Who died in the Kinslaying at Doriath. Yeah.**

**3: More headcanon. ****J**

**4: Personally, I don't know that's canon and it's very likely it isn't, but let a girl have her fun before she has to make up a ton of absences and start end of level testing.**

**5: Okay, there's really two things about this sentence. The first one is that; looking back on it, it sounds a bit confusing. It almost sounds like "the harper" is saying every time the "flutist" leads, it all becomes a disaster. That's not what it's supposed to mean. It's Maglor saying that every time ****_he_****(he meaning Maglor himself, people) leads it becomes a disaster. And that brings us to my second point. Maglor is referring to the 7-50 years (depends on your preference and level of love of character torture and angst. Me, I go by 35 years) he spent as High King of the Noldor in Exile [lofty title, huh? Quite the mouthful, if you ask me] while Maedhros was imprisoned in Angband.**

**6: Yes, I do know they're technically****_half_****-cousins-in-law. Picky people.**

**7: Yet another headcanon. I don't feel like explaining it now, but it is explained (sort of) in ****_It's Always Been More Complicated Then Anyone Knows_****if you're curious.**

**Elvish Translations**

*** - Hello?**

**** - What is your name?**

***** - My name is Daeron**

****** - I am called Mäkaläurë**

******* - I am Elladan - And I am called Elrohir**

******** - sons of Elrond. I actually think it's 'son' of Elrond, but this is the best I can do. I struggle with elvish.**

**Ending Author's Notes:**

**A: Now this piece was full of headcanons. Ha!**

**B: In the last bit, I tried to capture Maglor's snapped mental condition, I really did try… I don't think I did very good, though. Did I?**

**C: Well, this is officially my longest oneshot, hitting 13 pages in Word and 4373 words total. And yes, I will be updating ****_How Did I Get Myself Into This_****. Someday…**

**(I wrote this on April 29 but never published it. The Oath of the Fëanorians than too, lol)**


End file.
